


see you somewhere, someplace, sometime

by shinealightonme



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Coming Out, Family, Lynch Sibling Rivalry, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Pynch Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 10:42:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15411171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: You can'tplanfor Ronan; Declan doesn't know why he keeps trying.





	see you somewhere, someplace, sometime

**Author's Note:**

> Started this a billion years ago, finished it for the Pynch Week prompt "Pride"
> 
> Thanks to comicsohwhyohwhy. She knows what she did.

Declan had gone from having two brothers to being an only child for one hundred and sixty-seven hours out of the week.

It was not an experience that he would recommend to anyone.

But neither is this: carving out the minutes of the day one at a time, taking a relationship that existed in the space of an hour and fighting tooth and claw to turn it into something greater, dodging the constant backsliding and laziness and crises of faith. A thousand times a month, he asks himself, _why do I even bother_.

Except he knows why. Because there had been a moment where Matthew and Ronan were _dying_ , following their parents to a hasty grave, leaving Declan behind as well and truly the last Lynch, and it was the most terrifying moment of his life. He's not in a rush to put himself back there.

So, really, it's a _good_ thing that Ronan has just turned up on his doorstep. Unannounced. On a Saturday evening. When Declan had plans.

Ronan's reaching out. He wants to be involved in Declan's life, _which he is interrupting_ \--

It's a good thing that Ronan is here. Declan tells himself that. A few times.

"Let's get dinner," Ronan says, which is a shockingly normal thing to hear from his magical, rude, cursed, feral brother.

"Ronan," Declan says. "Hi. Look, this isn't a great time -- "

"I made reservations."

Declan blinks.

He blinks a couple more times, for good measure.

But he doesn't wake up, and Ronan doesn't turn out to be a hallucination, and all told, the day feels truly mundane.

"Okay," Declan says slowly, because how can he say no to _Ronan_ making _reservations?_

Ronan tells him to head north when they're in the car. Declan heads north and contemplates whether Ronan is going to take them to an IHOP or a Starbucks and dub that his "reservations."

Ronan pops _The Dark Side of the Moon_ out of his CD player, glares at it, and tosses it out the car window like a Frisbee.

Declan brake-checks.

Ronan, who hadn't buckled his goddamn seat belt because he'd been too busy playing music critic, just manages to catch himself before he slams his forehead into the glove compartment.

"Turn left," he says, like there's nothing else to comment on.

Ronan steers him toward a surprisingly upscale French restaurant that Declan has eaten at once, as part of a campaign fundraiser where the candidate was paying the tab for the consulting firm. Declan parks the car himself, not wanting to subject his Volvo to the valet or the valet to Ronan.

"Oh, by the way," Ronan says as Declan shifts into park, as though they're in the middle of a conversation. "I'm gay."

"Goddammit, Ronan, that's not funny."

"Why the fuck would I be joking?"

Declan looks at his brother, who's as intense and combative as ever.

He isn't joking.

"Okay. Great." Declan tips his head back against the headrest and shuts his eyes tight.

Ronan gets out of the car and slams the door. Declan has managed to piss him off. Not that that's hard to do.

"What do you expect me to say right now, Ronan?"

"Some people would be supportive and shit," Ronan says through the open window. "But don't worry, I didn't expect anything from you."

 _Supportive_. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. As though Ronan hadn't spit on every hand that had ever reached out to help him.

"You just dropped this on me," Declan says. "I need to process it."

"Process fast. My boyfriend's getting dinner with us." Ronan heads for the restaurant.

Declan swears. Rolls up the windows, swears at them for going too slow. Turns off the engine and exits the car, but refuses to run after Ronan.

He _walks_. Briskly.

The hostess tries to take his name, but he waves her off without stopping. Ronan's still in view, heading for a table near the back of the restaurant.

If Declan had made the reservations, they'd have the table right up front by the window. Of course, if Declan had made the reservations, Ronan would have had to tell him ahead of time that it was for three people. Ronan would have had to tell him they were having dinner more than ten minutes in advance.

Declan puts on his politician's smile, but beneath it he's simmering.

Ronan takes a seat at the table, and Declan gets a look at the boyfriend.

It's Parrish.

Something like disappointment runs through him. He hasn't had time to think any of this through -- deliberate sabotage on Ronan's part -- but in the back of his mind he'd apparently decided that _boyfriend_ meant Ronan had expanded his social circle beyond three people and his own subconscious.

But of course not.

Declan's walk falters, for one single step, but Parrish looks up at just the right moment to catch it.

His mouth goes flat with annoyance, and Declan thinks that dinner is going to devolve into Ronan's boyfriend picking a fight with him. Thinks, with how his day is going, he's going to fight back.

Instead, Parrish flicks his eyes back over to Ronan. "I thought you were going to tell him."

"I did."

"When? Just now?"

"That counts."

Parrish sighs. Declan recognizes the exact note of exasperation that comes from dealing with Ronan. He tries not to fault him for it. If Parrish is the one who convinced Ronan to come out to him, then he _can't_ fault him, as much as he would like to.

The waiter arrives and zeroes in on Declan's pressed shirt as the obvious tipper at the table. "Would you gentlemen care to see the wine list?"

Parrish holds his menu up to block Ronan's face. "Just water."

Ronan mutters "like I'd order _wine_."

The waiter retreats again, leaving the table unbalanced, a scalene triangle: Ronan and Parrish on one side, against Declan, alone.

He wishes the waiter had stuck around to tell them about the specials.

"What brings you two to DC?" He addresses the question at Parrish, because that feels like it has a higher chance of getting a reasonable answer.

Ronan scowls so hard Declan can _hear_ it out of the corner of his eye. "This is where you live." Parrish just grimaces; no telling if that's sympathy or irritation.

It hits Declan all over how _pissed_ he is about this ambush. Neither Ronan nor fate gave him a chance to react with grace. Declan is _good_ at breaking the ice, Declan is _good_ at conversations with strangers, except as much as _Ronan's boyfriend_ is a stranger, _Adam Parrish_ isn't. He's a name on honor rolls at Aglionby, an somber shadow following Richard Gansey around, an active conspirator in any number of Ronan's schemes -- _that_ hasn't changed -- and oh, right, there was that little matter of his shithole parents trying to _get Ronan arrested_. They don't write etiquette books long enough to get Declan through this dinner.

So he ditches the etiquette.

He looks square at Ronan, but that still lets him see Parrish in his periphery. They're sitting close. "Gansey must be jealous. Weren't you two an item?"

Ronan snarls, face going tight and ugly, but Parrish doesn't even flinch. "Gansey's happy for us. And he has a girlfriend now, so if you were wondering about your chances I'd have to say they're bad."

Point, Adam Parrish.

Declan flicks his eyes over to Parrish. Ronan's going to be useless for anything but crude language for the next few minutes, and he's not going to underestimate someone twice in a row. "How long have you two been -- "

Except Ronan _is_ good for something, as long as it still trips up his brother, because he interrupts: " -- sucking face?"

If they did make an etiquette book for situations like this, Ronan would just go and check off everything on the _don't_ list.

" _Dating_ ," Declan says through clenched teeth.

Ronan waves a hand dismissively. "Same answer. Since my birthday."

_Three fucking weeks._ Three Sundays playing family, and the whole time -- 

Parrish looks annoyed as well, which is not as good for Declan's spirits as he could hope. "Is that really necessary, Lynch?"

"What? It's not like I said _fucking_."

The waiter comes back then, but he doesn't bat a lash. This is a nice restaurant. The waiters are paid not to react to things the guests say.

Parrish looks embarrassed all the same, like for the first time tonight he's regretting making Ronan do this.

Declan orders a steak, rare -- he feels barbaric. Ronan kicks Parrish, who glares at him and then orders the poisson du jour with a passable French accent. For himself Ronan just says "I just want a burger, are you guys too fancy for burgers?"

The waiter assures him that of course they can make a burger, and how would he like that prepared?, which just annoys Ronan all over again.

"You picked the restaurant," Parrish says, waiting until the waiter is well out of earshot. "You don't get to complain about it."

"I get to complain about whatever I want," Ronan mutters back, more _spoiled child_ than _rebellious teenager._

"I don't want to listen to it."

"Since when do you listen to anything I say?"

"Since your birthday, apparently."

Ronan smirks, but he's ducking his head, shy at the same time. Parrish looks just as bad. They're not a scalene triangle anymore, just a line and a single point off to the side wishing he still had a menu so he could pretend that he wasn't witnessing this. Christ, how embarrassing, to like someone in public.

The waiter flits back to the table with bread, and the moment ends.

Parrish shot down his attempt to be rude, and Ronan shot down his attempt to be polite, so Declan will let the two of them pick the conversation. If they can't do that they can all sit there in awkward silence for all that Declan cares.

It looks like they're determined to do just that. Ronan says nothing and lounges in his chair. Parrish says nothing but fidgets, sitting too upright for his shoulders to remain unmoving without protest.

Declan doesn't eat carbs anymore, but he takes a roll anyway. These are hardly normal circumstances, and it's easier to look intentional and controlled with one specific task to do than to sit in place like Parrish is doing. He wishes it were still socially acceptable to smoke; Don Draper didn't know how good he'd had it.

Parrish breaks first. Declan doesn't even blame him for it. The record shows how bad he and Ronan are at conceding.

"Just checking," and it's addressed to the table at large, "is your plan to be silent for the rest of the evening?"

"I did my _sharing_ for the night already," Ronan says.

"Great. I love that we drove all the way to D.C. for a five-minute conversation."

"Five minutes is a significant outlier for Ronan," Declan cuts in, "I wouldn't have bet on more than three." He turns himself physically in his chair, ostensibly to grab the butter. Another thing he doesn't actually eat but which he will gladly use as a prop, especially since this means he has cut Ronan out of the conversation. "Is Milo having the seniors do that tiresome journalism project again?"

Parrish looks surprised at the subject change. Possibly he has forgotten that he and Declan have anything in common besides Ronan. But he's not so graceless he can't take an out, not one dropped on him as obviously as that -- Declan's not at his most graceful, either.

"No," Parrish answers, "there's a petition going around -- " (Ronan snorts; there's some story there) " -- to add more diverse authors to the syllabus, so he's doubled down on Shakespeare. We're doing Merchant of Venice and Titus Andronicus this week."

"If he really wants to prove the supremacy of dead white men he should have picked something other than Titus Andronicus."

"To be fair, I think he wanted to cover Coriolanus, but -- "

Ronan snorts again. "Anus butt."

"Yes, thanks for proving my point, Ronan," Parrish says.

"Titus Andronicus aside," Declan says, "no reasonable person has ever regretted reading more Shakespeare."

"I regret all Shakespeare," Ronan says.

"Yes," Declan replies, "thank you for proving my point," and Ronan glares at him -- expected -- and Parrish laughs -- hoped for, but unnecessary.

The waiter arrives with their food, and once he's gone Declan asks Parrish more questions about Aglionby, tries to catch up on campus gossip as best he can. It emerges, quite early in the conversation, that Parrish a terrible source for gossip. Declan _knows_ that they went to the same school, that Parrish attended regularly enough to maintain a high GPA, but honestly it feels like Declan knows Parrish's own classmates better than he does, with one (or two -- _no_ ) exception.

But he keeps prodding anyway, because what the hell else to they have to talk about, and because everything that Parrish does know or has observed about the students and faculty that Declan liked the least is conveyed in a humor so dry it only hardly gives itself away as humor at all. It's enough to keep the conversation moving, at least, to keep them all from getting dragged down by the way that Ronan broods over his hamburger and doesn't speak for the rest of the meal.

It's enough that Declan is glad, even, that Parrish made this happen. Even if this meal is awkward and terrible and ruins every rule in every etiquette book, even if Ronan would never have told him on his own, even if Declan spends so much of his time worrying about every aspect of his brother's life and now there's one more thing to worry about -- he finds, all the same, that he's glad he knows. That Ronan's gay, that Ronan has a boyfriend, that Ronan has a boyfriend who bumps knees with him under the table when he thinks Declan won't notice

Declan slips his credit card to the waiter while Parrish is fussing over his cell phone. ("Tell Gansey I'm not your secretary, he can't send me messages for you." "Why, what'd he say?" "I'm not going to tell you, because I'm _not your secretary_.") Ronan catches his subterfuge out of the corner of his eye, while he's halfheartedly trying to snatch Parrish's phone away from him. Declan expects him to protest, or at least to make a snide comment about Declan playing patrician, but Ronan only looks away.

Parrish doesn't notice until the waiter brings Declan the check to sign.

"Oh -- " and Parrish's cheeks go bright red, even as he's flaring his nostrils hard enough they turn white. "You don't have to."

"It's nothing," Declan says, and keeps talking before anyone can challenge him about a check with two market price items on it being _nothing_. "You're the one who has to spend four hours in the car with Ronan."

Parrish doesn't protest, but he's not back at ease yet, either. He tries to play like he is, though; Declan can respect that. "Haven't you seen how he drives? We'll be back in Henrietta in an hour."

"Perfect. In that case, when you get pulled over and Ronan picks a fight with the cop, you can pay his bail, since I covered dinner."

Parrish snorts.

"Christ," Ronan complains, "the two of you shouldn't be allowed to talk to each other."

"And whose fault is it that we are?" Parrish demands. "I had plans for today -- "

"Taking turns hating your car and hating Shakespeare does not count as _plans._ "

" -- until you _kidnapped me_ and dragged me across state lines. That's a federal crime, you know."

Declan blinks at Parrish as it slowly, slowly dawns on him that today wasn't his idea. That Parrish hadn't planned this. That he hadn't put Ronan up to this. Which means -- 

Declan looks at his brother, and Ronan knows what he's thinking because he's shifting in his chair, sullen and avoiding eye contact. "D.C.'s not a state, everything's legal here."

Parrish makes a joke about politicians that Declan doesn't catch. He grins anyway, because his brother is a sentimental fool who wasted hours of everyone's day because he wanted Declan to know about his life.

They depart the restaurant. Declan shakes hands with Parrish, overly formal for two men of their age, except that they're both more comfortable that way.

"We should do this again sometime," Declan tells Parrish.

"No, we shouldn't," Ronan mutters. They both ignore him.

"Let me know if you're ever in D.C."

"Yes," Parrish promises, "of course."

Declan turns and shakes Ronan's hand, too, which is a hell of a move since Ronan doesn't offer him his hand. It only gets more audacious when Declan uses the grip on his hand to pull him into a one-armed embrace.

"What are you _doing_?"

"I'm hugging you," though really it's more of a headlock.

" _Why_?"

"Because you're my little brother."

"Get off me." He squirms, but they both know that if he really meant it he'd have broken Declan's nose by now.

"No," Declan says, merciless, "I won't. Because I _support you_."

"For fuck's sake, you were supposed to disown me."

"Never," Declan gloats. "Because you're _family_ and I _love you_."

Ronan squirms harder, waves at Parrish wildly. "Can you just start the fucking car already?"

Parrish, all pantomime surprise and enormous exaggerated movements, pats his pockets. "Huh. Can't find the keys. Imagine that," and Declan decides that yes, Parrish is absolutely the only person in the world he trusts to date his brother.

"I fucking hate both of you," Ronan fumes, and Declan and Parrish meet eyes, with identical knowing smirks.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, you can [reblog it on tumblr.](http://toast-the-unknowing.tumblr.com/post/176231792885/see-you-somewhere-someplace-sometime)


End file.
